


love-in-idleness

by john1513



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), A Love Letter to That Cold Open, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Feelings, Fluff, Happy Ending, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Language of Flowers, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, References to Shakespeare, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, Wordcount: Under 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29413872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/john1513/pseuds/john1513
Summary: a little valentine's sweet treat for y'all :) <3
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 47





	love-in-idleness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OldBeginningNewEnding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldBeginningNewEnding/gifts).



> this one is for my new friend @OldBeginningNewEnding with whom I've been paired for the GO Love Valentine's Day event! it was so fun to write this for you, and i sincerely hope you enjoy the story as much as i enjoyed writing it. i tried to keep it nice and fluffy for you!! have a lovely valentine's day weekend dear :) xx

The bus rumbled quietly down the dark roads, the inside dimly lit by dingy buzzing lights. Inside sat a bus driver, a young man with a bouquet of roses, a person sat in the back with headphones on, a bumbling old woman, a bright, happy angel, and a demon. 

It was a quiet bus ride. Nobody spoke. 

The angel let his head fall onto the demon’s shoulder, even though the slightly bumpy ride made for an awkward angle. It was worth it to hear the deep sigh that resounded from the demon’s mouth. A release of tension, a letting go. 

“Today was wonderful,” Aziraphale said quietly, almost in a whisper. The air was still around them, everyone locked in a bubble of their own creation. For such a dull setting, the space felt blessed, sacred. 

Crowley turned his head slightly, careful not to bump Aziraphale’s cheek with the edge of his jaw. “You thought so?”

“Of course I did. It was perfect.”

“I don’t know. I wish we could’ve spent more time at the library.”

“Dear,” Aziraphale whispered, and turned to press a gentle kiss, a brush of tentative lips on a pulse point on Crowley’s neck. “We have the rest of our lives, you know.”

“I know,” Crowley said, and clenched his fists in his lap. “But I wanted today to be really special. Our first...you know.” Aziraphale could feel the way Crowley’s cheeks warmed as he fought a blush.

“Our first Valentine’s Day together?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, we’ve had Valentine’s Days together before. So.”

“Sure, but we weren’t together. Not the way we are now.”

Crowley shifted further to allow Aziraphale’s head a safer space in which to cradle, and snaked a hand across the bus seat to tangle with Aziraphale’s, an ever-warm, ever-there presence.

“Valentine’s Day wasn’t always this nice. Remember when it was about murder and violence?” Crowley chuckled. “Strange how quickly things change.”

Aziraphale sighed. “And then came Shakespeare.”

“Mm. Yeah. And then came Shakespeare. He really managed to spin that one, eh?”

Aziraphale remained uncharacteristically quiet for some time. “I remember our first Valentine’s, you know. Our actual first one.”

Crowley craned his head to look Aziraphale in the eye, hearing a quiet little undertone of sadness there that he didn’t like, not after such a nice day together. 

Aziraphale continued. “Shakespeare had just written _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. You loved it, thought it was ridiculous and you laughed the whole time we sat at the play, do you remember? And then the following fourteenth of February, you showed up at my doorstep. And I was mad because I was in the middle of a book and you were throwing rocks at my window and I thought it was some, some, I don’t know. Not you.”

“Oh,” Crowley breathed. “I remember.”

“And I opened my window and there you were, hair flowing down your shoulders, glowing in the sunlight, much too early in the morning, and you had wine and angel cake, you thought it was so funny. You brought flowers. And you were yelling up, waking up the entire neighborhood---”

“ _‘To-morrow is Saint Valentine’s day, all in the morning betime, and I a maid at your window, to be your valentine,’_ ” Crowley laughed. “Of course I remember. If you should meet an eligible person on the morning of Valentine’s, you ought to get married, that’s what Shakespeare said, right?”

Aziraphale smiled briefly before it slipped. “It was so lovely. I thought you meant...I thought you meant more by it. For a minute, I thought you meant that you---” Aziraphale drew a careful gasp. “Anyway. We’re together now. That’s what matters. I get to have that with you, now that everything is over, that we’re not...controlled by anyone, telling us what to do, who to be with, who we can’t be friends with. On our own side, like you said.”

Crowley pursed his lips before breaking his silence. “It was, you know.”

“Mm?”

“I did. Mean it like that. I loved you, even then, you know that. Longer than that. But suddenly there’s a whole holiday dedicated to this encompassing drowning feeling I got whenever we were together? I could pretend it was just playing along with the times, celebrating like the humans do, but I knew, even then, I wanted that with you. I wanted you more than anything. I wanted to be able to bring you flowers and wine and dessert anytime just because I felt like it. And suddenly there’s this day where I can do that, just the one day, of course I jumped at the chance. It was nice to pretend to court you. I never thought we would ever really get that.”

Aziraphale’s eyes had begun to shimmer a bit in the glowing buzz of the fluorescent lights. “And look at us now, hm?”

Crowley squeezed the hand in his tighter, and wrapped the other around Aziraphale’s jaw, carefully bringing it closer to his lips to place a searing kiss on his temple. “Can I take you one more place for tonight, angel?”

“Crowley, you don’t need to do that. We’ve already been across the entirety of London in one day. It’s hardly necessary.”

“Trust me, you’ll wanna go.” Crowley said with a smile, and rubbed a thumb across Aziraphale’s face, smoothing out the creases over his forehead, around his eyes. 

Aziraphale shifted, curling around Crowley’s body more completely, and let his eyes drift closed, thinking of the wonderful afternoon they’d already had. The wine, the oysters, the angel cake. They had been to all their old spots, walked through the park, ambled down the busy London sidewalks. 

A soft hand carded through Aziraphale’s hair, and he awoke to a gentle voice in his ear. “We’re here, angel.”

The bus driver, miraculously, waited patiently for Aziraphale to rouse from his slumber (when had he fallen asleep?) and to gather himself to stand. He pulled Crowley from his seat and tangled their arms tightly together, like a vine creeping onto a stalk, or a snake coiling tight. 

Aziraphale laughed openly once he stepped out of the bus and recognized the area, the brilliant Thames glimmering beside them, dark and heavy and glittering as the lights nearby reflected off the rumbling waves. He looked to his right, and as the bus peeled away, probably wondering how it came to stop here of all places, and Aziraphale watched as the Globe came into view.

“Ah, Shakespeare once again, my dear. Feeling awfully romantic, aren’t we?” Aziraphale turned and saw a lovestruck grin on Crowley’s face, wide and beaming, directed right at Aziraphale. 

“Come on,” Crowley tugged on the hand in his, pulling Aziraphale behind him rapidly. 

“What’s the rush?” Aziraphale found himself giggling, and after a short while he was gasping out of breath. “Crowley, what is it, my dear?”

They had finally stopped just outside the building, and the place was dark and deserted. 

“Shh-sh, we’ve gotta be quiet,” Crowley whispered, edging his way closer to the most-definitely locked front doors to the theater. 

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale stage-whispered. “Are we...are we _breaking into_ the Globe?”

“Aziraphale, it’s really bad habit to shout your illegal plans to the world just as you’re doing it, you know.” Aziraphale thought he heard Crowley mumble something under his breath, maybe something concerning the Bastille.

“Listen here, Crowley,” he held his breath as he watched Crowley’s hand curl around the entrance door, and was surprised to hear a soft click as it unlocked for his gentle touch.

“We shouldn’t,” Aziraphale said, watching Crowley’s mischievous smile in the darkness and feeling a rush of desire running under his skin. 

“I thought we didn’t care about what we should or shouldn’t do anymore,” Crowley said, and watched the lines in Aziraphale’s face soften. 

Aziraphale steeled himself. “Yes, fine, fine. I hate when you use that against me, dear, especially when it comes to these human laws, you know they can be quite tetchy.”

Crowley laughed once again, and quietly walked him to the middle of the floor, right in the middle of the Globe. The doors slammed shut behind them, and the sound echoed up the walls of the building and across the endless empty chairs. Rows upon rows of plastic seats that circled around them and up, and then at the very top an open roof. The stars were bright tonight, and the sky clear. There was no need for artificial light, as the moonlight bounced around the theater and cast haunting shadows around each of their faces. Their shoes crunched the dirt underneath their feet.

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” Aziraphale said. 

“Well, it wasn’t _technically_ here but, yes.”

“That’s right, they’ve since rebuilt the Globe elsewhere. It used to be further down the way, didn’t it?”

“Mm,” Crowley agreed, eyes still wandering up and down the walls, his hands in the deep pockets of his tight, black trousers. Aziraphale remembered him exactly here, so many years ago, and a thrill ran under his skin and made his body shiver in the cool night air. 

“You had that ridiculous beard then.”

“Ha!” Crowley laughed loudly. “If I recall correctly, you loved that look.”

Aziraphale softened. “I did. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t ridiculous.”

Crowley chuckled, and walked around the dirt floor, hands running over the stage just before them, eyes tracing the heavenly skies above them. 

“I loved you here, too, you know. Everywhere we’ve been, I loved you there. I loved you then, and I love you now. You know that, right?”

Aziraphale was rooted in place. “I do, love. I know that.”

Crowley cleared his throat nervously, and made his way back to Aziraphale.

“I didn’t mean to cause you any pain, on that first Valentine’s. I didn’t think you remembered that still. I never would have done that if I knew that you were also...that you wanted---”

“I know.” Aziraphale said with a wide smile.

Crowley snapped his fingers, and from his palm burst a single seed, that exploded suddenly as it sprouted a green stem that flailed wildly, before growing large green leaves around it, and sprouting a single white pansy. As its petals grew even larger, right before Aziraphale’s eyes, they turned a deep inky purple, and it twisted helplessly in Crowley’s palm until it was a fully formed bloom, and Crowley gripped it gently between two languid fingers, pushing it towards Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he looked up at Crowley with wonder. “That’s for me?”

“ _‘Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell,’_ ” Crowley started, reciting with purpose, with care, with all the love in the world. “ _‘It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.’_ ”

“Crowley, I never would have guessed you for romance.” Aziraphale said, a deep fondness tinting his voice, knowing above everything that there was nothing less true in the world. Crowley had always been there with those endless acts of love, even when they were enemies, even when they were rivals, even at the beginning of time when all they were were just an angel and a demon atop a cliff, overlooking the Garden, overlooking the Beginning of the World. 

Crowley had turned to him for cover from the rain.

Crowley had made him laugh with a silly little joke then.

Crowley had stood with him at the Ark.

Had grieved with him at the crucifixion.

Had dined with him in Rome.

Had plotted with him during Hamlet.

Had fed ducks with him in St. James.

Had rescued him at the Bastille.

Had fed him crepes.

Had brought chocolates to the bookshop upon its opening.

Had fed him angel cake.

Had ached with him over a tartan thermos.

Had weeped for him in the middle of a burning bookshop.

Had saved the world with him.

For him.

And now.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley cleared his throat and stepped closer to Aziraphale, running gentle fingers over his warm cheek. “You went somewhere.”

Aziraphale looked up, and found that his eyes were watery, the depth of so many feelings he hadn’t been allowed to feel for decades, for centuries, for _millennia_ , to make him feel like he was drowning in it. It was impossible to feel so much. Wasn’t it?

Aziraphale’s gaze danced over Crowley’s concerned features. The pinch of his brows drawing together, the sharpness of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw like a knife, the thin lips pressed tight. The glow of amber eyes in the darkness.

He pushed forward to press a loving kiss to Crowley’s lips, trying to push some of what he felt forward and out. His body was shaking with a want, with a need, with a thrumming in his blood. 

“I love you, Crowley,” he whispered against those lips, and sighed as he felt Crowley’s hands wrap around his waist. 

“I love you, too, angel. It’s okay,” he said, and pressed Aziraphale tighter against him. “It’s okay. We have the rest of our lives now.”

Aziraphale stood there, cradled in Crowley’s arms, for a very, very long time, long enough for the grief of 6000 years lost to subside, for the shaking to stop, for the love and desire and possessiveness to soften, for the softness to soothe all the pain of the past. They rocked back and forth there in the quiet for a very long time. Crowley felt like safety, like coming home after the longest day, like the well-deserved happy ending at the end of a very sad book.

Aziraphale drew a breath against Crowley’s collarbone, breathing in the scent of him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Crowley.”

Aziraphale didn’t see, but he could feel Crowley’s smile against his own neck as Crowley replied. “Happy Valentine’s Day, angel. Here’s to many more.”

Aziraphale chuckled and tightened his grip around Crowley, squeezing until it was difficult to tell where Crowley ended and Aziraphale began.

“Let’s go home, dear.”

**Author's Note:**

> okay but please if you love valentine's day don't look up the origin of it, it's...very strange lmao. but it was indeed shakespeare (along with other popular writers of that time) that helped popularize and romanticize the holiday into what we know it as today! i just can't write anything without including random obscure facts in there because i'm a bit of a nerd, my apologies. 
> 
> hope y'all liked this little story! and a very happy valentine's weekend to all of you :) <3


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